


Go Make Yourself Some Friends Or You'll Be Lonely

by likecrackingwater (1thetenfootlongscarf2)



Series: The Albums [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: season one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 03:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5524295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1thetenfootlongscarf2/pseuds/likecrackingwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Remember life and then your life becomes a better one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Make Yourself Some Friends Or You'll Be Lonely

The dropship rang with the sound of rain. It faltered down the side, ran swift to pool along the edges where the metal met the earth. Clarke watched where the water ran. Flush, that was the word. The metal was flush with the earth.

There was birdsong. The rain distorted the sound. It warbled from the edges of the forest, dripped from green leaves to seep into her chest, set it alight.

For the past few days the rolling clouds hid the stars. She would still hover at the door, stare at the boiling sky for the glimpse of the Ark. It was the biggest station. At night it would be obvious, a false star, a new light to follow. It was built on dreams, on the desprate hopes and prayers of a dying race. A race to the stars. A race to the edges of the cold nothingness.

Gravity here was so strong. It dragged at her when she moved. At night she could feel the persistent plucking on her skin, the gentle pull down and deeper.

Rain was a constant. On and off for the last few weeks. Only hours between each downpour. They dug trenches around the walls. One of the graves had flooded so they pulled the bodies free and carried them to higher ground. Someone had said words but Clarke only had eyes for the new cradle for Wells' bones.

He had been her first - her first friend, her first love. She remembered how she felt when she knew she loved him. It had grown in her until one night she lay next to him in front of the Last Tree, saw the stars in his eyes and felt the heft of his hands in hers and thought  _I love him so much_ and it was a joyful pain. The feeling made her heart feel like it was blooming. She cradled it close. Clarke could see it leak into the things she drew. There was more hope in her sketches. Even the shadows were full of light.

She whispered to Delta _I'm in love_ and they cuddled in the dark and giggled over plans of the future. 

Now she watched the rain carve paths through the dirt. Where Wells was sat an emptiness. Her love was still there but now it was tethered to a hill above the camp, where the only person who had ever understood her now was reduced to dust.

When she stepped free of the ship the rain soaked her. It ran into her eyes, blinded her with life. Mud shifted under her feet as she walked. It was a struggle but she pressed on. Everyone else was hiding from the weather. The gate was unmanned. 

The trees were so large it was quieter, dryer underneath. A small animal dashed in front of her. Its passage up a tree sook water loose. Drops cascaded to the ground. The leaves russled. Clarke froze and the woods heaved into movement. Birds wove between the trees. They had plumage that was at once too dark and too bright, flashes of blue and yellow and green. A herd of deer crept between the trunks. These looked pure, with clear eyes and shiny coats. There were a few babies. Their coats were spotted. Everything about them was miniature. All the ears turned like radar dishes. They were delicate, stilt-legged and picking each place to step with all the care of a dancer. 

Clarke had no plain. She followed them. There was something thrumming under her skin. It was excitement, kickstarted by the world that was still outside the walls. 

A few times the deer stopped to eat. They pawed at the ground, using sharp hooves to expose young grass. They were traveling away from the camp. Clarke finally felt light. 

They picked their way up a rocky patch. She wanted to struggle with the elavation, the climb. Her hands stung when she gripped stone to pull herself up.

The deer moved faster. There was no hesitation over the rocky ground. Stone butted from the earth like teeth.Then they froze. The leader's tail suddenly raised like a flag. They took off and Clarke followed. They crashed through the undergrowth. The storm was a drum above them, the tempo rising with the call  _run run run_.

One stumbled. Almost instantly Clarke heard the retort of a gun. She was on the ground before she could think. A leaf stuck to her face. Across her hand a bug scuttled. She could not move. She could not move.

Something was groaning. Clarke did not move. The leaves shuffled with the force of the wind. She didn't move and tears leaked from the edges of her eyes. She couldn't look because she was scared. 

Nothing moved. The deer called into the empty woods and Clarke lay there until it was quiet.

When she got up her legs cramped. Pins and needles ran up and down as she stepped. Her hands shook. They were dirty, her front smeared with mud.

There was no gun. The leg was broken. A poor placement, the slick rocks - it didn't matter. The eyes were closed and the deer heaved each breath. Clarke didn't bring anything with her. Nothing to end this. As she stroked its side she left streaks of dirt. It gasped deeper, tried to struggle upright but she soothed it down, pet away and calmed its fear. 

 _I'm sorry_ she whispered. It whined and she fell in love a bit. It was a painful love, one for things that she couldn't have, things she had to leave in the woods.  _I'll remember you_ she promised to eyes closed and sides that begain to fall still. Love was something Clarke might give too freely. She loved her father, and loved him still when he died. She loved Wells, and loved him when she buried him (once, twice, over and over). She loved her mother, loved her despite and through betrayal.

She loved this deer, and loved it as it went the way of the flesh, as the life left in some unshakeable, unspeakable way and she was left sitting alone in the woods as the storm roared.


End file.
